


Broken Body, Broken Mind

by AlexanderHyde



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Abuse, Child Abuse, Depression, Emotional, M/M, Mute!Eren, Self-Harm, Sorry Not Sorry, Suicidal Thoughts, and levi bby, ereri bbys, i cri, i don't even know how to explain this tbh, opps, sorry - Freeform, sorry my precious eren bby, trigger warning, why do i hurt my ships so much
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 18:09:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4029652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexanderHyde/pseuds/AlexanderHyde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eren's mother died when he was young.</p><p>His father disappeared shortly after.</p><p>He's been adopted by two alcohol addicts who wanted to use his child benefits on more alcohol and who beat him every single day. </p><p>What happens when he moves to a new school which is attended by a certain someone who will make a huge impact on his life?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Body, Broken Mind

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy this, I started this like a year ago and just thought it was a piece of shit so I left it, also the fact that I had major writers block on it should be acknowledged!  
> But yeah, I only just was able to finish it, and I'm pretty damn happy. This isn't the only chapter, don't worry. And please, no hate.

“You’re a disgusting _disease_!”

“You aren’t worth the life you’re living, rat! You aren’t even worth the air you _breathe_!!”

“I wish you were never born!”

The voices echoed through my skull, as I felt my weak body being pushed and kicked. Eren Yeager. The kid who wasn’t supposed to be born, to live or to breathe. Yet I did, and myself and my parents seemed to hate it too. They weren’t my real parents, of course. My real mom died from cancer when I was quite young, and my father disappeared shortly after. He was adopted by the most hateful parents you could ever dream of.

My _father_ crashed his foot onto my back once again, his wife joining him. They continued to shout nasty comments at me, insults. Hoping to get me to break. But I never did. I would always just lay there and let them kick me about, insult me and hate me, because I was too weak to fight. There was one of me and two of them. Maybe if I’d had the confidence to, I would have grabbed a knife and stabbed the shit outta the bastards in self-defence, but I’ve been living with them for so long that I’ve begun to believe their chants. So what gives me the right to take away two lives that are supposed to live, unlike myself?

“Might as well just leave him, he’s not gonna’ break, the little shit”, My _father_ said, dragging his wife by the arm into the living room.  After a few minutes, I sat up and tried to stand, using the wall behind me to help steady myself. My mouth tasted like metal, full of blood, and my eyes felt weak and tired, just like I did.

I hissed in pain, clutching my left side. My chest was sore where I’d been kicked repeatedly. At this rate they would kill me, but, isn’t that a good thing? I wasn’t supposed to live anyway, just like they’d said.

I slowly made my way to my small, cramped bedroom, limping. I had to use the wall to help steady myself, so I wouldn’t fall over. I finally got to my bedroom door, opening it and closing it afterwards. I fell onto my bed with a painful groan leaving sore lips.

As much as it hurt, I curled up into a small ball on my bed, tears starting to pour out of my eyes. I just laid there in that ball, silently crying myself to sleep, nightmare’s pushing their way in instead of dreams. Instead of dreams of getting away from all this, there were just nightmares of more of this crappy life I had. Sleep took me over.

 

* * *

 

 

The rays of sun were harsh on my eyes, my curtains slightly open. I opened my eyes slightly, ignoring the burning in them caused by the light. What I noticed as I looked around was that I had fallen off of my bed and ended up on my floor, no longer curled up in a ball. I ached all over, and I definitely didn’t want to get up, but if I didn’t then my parents would beat me even more. I didn’t feel like another beating at all, I never do, I try to prevent it as much as possible. But that’s a little impossible when both of your adoptive parents are addicted to alcohol and drugs. Not really a great combination, especially when they’re very aggressive when they’re drunk, no.

I stood, the pain of my ribs coming back as soon as I moved. I clutched my side as I did the night before, and started walking – _limping –_ to the bathroom to use the toilet and shower. As soon as I got in, I stared at my bruised face in the mirror. Damn. They must have been even more drunk than usual, they normally try to avoid beating me in places that could easily be seen, mostly because of school. My face and collar bones were fuckin _covered_ in bruises and small cuts.

I pulled my aching arms out in front of me and searched for more bruises and cuts, which wasn’t hard seeing as they too were covered in the large purple looking bruises and scrapes. I lifted my shirt and looked all down my abdominal, which again was covered in the sore bruises. So were my legs, I later found out as I pulled down my trousers and underwear to pee.

After that, I threw my clothes from yesterday into the washing basket and turned the shower on. I stood there, naked in the bathroom while I waited for the cold water to warm up. I locked the door and tested the water with one of my hands. It felt about right, so I got in and stood under the warm spray of clean water, standing still for a few minutes to just _relax_ for once. My hair was soaked, which I saw as the perfect time to get my strawberry shampoo out. I did, I squirted loads into my left hand and put the bottle back with my other.

I then rubbed it into my hair, deep to the scalp and to the roots. Making sure my whole head was covered in the light pink gunk. Once I thought it was more than okay, I washed it all out and did the same for my Strawberry Conditioner.

I than proceeded to do the same but with my body and with my strawberry body wash, rinsing it all off afterwards. I washed off all the dry blood from the small cuts littering my sore body.

I got out after I was done, taking a clean white towel and covered my lower half, tying the towel around my torso. It hurt my hips, since there were also bruises there too. Don’t get me wrong, not all of these bruises and cuts were from the night before; some were from the day before that as well.

I quickly hurried to my room, as quietly as possible. I didn’t necessarily want to wake them up. I dried off and got changed into clean clothes for the day as fast as my pained body could. I checked my phone for the time. 8:10. 20 minutes to get to school. Shit. It doesn’t take 20 minutes to get to school, it take 35. Oh fucking well, I’ll have to deal with it for now. Looks like I’ll be in the detention room during lunch, like in my old school.

So yeah, I moved schools because the old one had started to notice all the bruises and was asking questions, and my parents found out and moved me off. It’s not like I have any real friends there anyway, or any friends at all. I never spoke to anyone. Yeah, I kind of stopped talking after my parents started the beatings. They seemed nice when they first adopted me, but then things got bad. They abused me physically and mentally. So fun. I grabbed my newish black messenger bag and swung it across my shoulders, only to end up in me making a silent sound of pain. Okay, that wasn’t such a good idea being as I had so many bruises.

I was just about to start my new school today. I was nervous as fuck, and I knew no one would like me. I knew I’d be bullied again like in my old school. Because I’m the one no one likes, I’m the one people target for bullying. I’m the useless piece of shit that doesn’t belong in this world.

I’ve tried to end my life before, but it didn’t work because I’m too much of a coward. That was a few months ago, and I haven’t tried since. But recently, things were getting worse. Like last night, they started drinking more, started hurting me more. I can’t stand it, I hate it.

Maybe I’d try again soon.

 

* * *

 

 

I listened to the song playing in my earphones as I walked to school, I’d skipped breakfast like I always do, and avoided waking my parents up as much as I could, and started walking off to school with my bag over my shoulder and a book in my hands. Yeah, I liked to read. My favourite book was something called ‘Attack On Titan’ and it was written by Mike Zackarias, my favourite author too.

I was currently reading it for the hundredth time, because it was such a good book and also because I didn’t have any money to buy any more books. I saved up so I could get the whole series though. They’re all hidden under my bed, behind lots of junk. I hoped my parents wouldn’t ever find them and wreck them. These books were the only _good_ things in my life, the only things that made me _want_ to live any longer. I want to meet the author, he’s just too amazing. I can’t die without meeting him, I refuse to.

Somehow, I’ll meet him. Then after, then I can finally take my life and be at peace. Finally.


End file.
